


One Last Gift

by Erogu



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Custom Hawke name, Default Hawke appearance, Hawke can be mean but Maker does he love Fenris, M/M, Mage Hawke (Dragon Age), Red-Purple Hawke, Rivalmance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-22
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-06-14 17:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15393534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erogu/pseuds/Erogu
Summary: In the Viscount's office Hawke attempts to give Fenris another gift, even though Fenris has notoriously spurned Hawke's gifts in the past.





	One Last Gift

**Author's Note:**

> Formatting here is a nightmare (friendly fire is on). I tried to keep sections together because I think this is dialogue heavy and I didn't want so many spaces. Enjoy, and I'm open to feedback on more than the formatting, thanks.

Fenris trudged up the steps to the Viscount’s office. Seneschal Bran greeted him at the top; if you could call vaguely grimacing in his direction a greeting; Fenris did.

The elf stepped through the open door and cleared his throat to make his presence known.

The Viscount looked up from his desk, “Oh, Fenris.” He returned to scrawling on the documents before him.

Fenris would grumble if he wasn’t already used to these curt dismissals. Oh fuck it. He let out an exasperated sigh.  
“How are you fairing? Is it proving difficult?”

“Being Viscount?” Aviel Hawke looked up from his desk with his own question.

“Yes, you seem… busy,” Fenris replied while idly rubbing his foot on his leg.

“I’m doing better than you would expect,” he returned his attention to his papers.

“I see. I’ll leave you to it then.” Fenris made to leave the room.

“Stop.”

Fenris halted immediately, out of habit. His brow furrowed in frustration. He hated when Hawke so nonchalantly doled out these small commands knowing full well how easily he would concede to them. A tendency he had yet to slough off.

“I’m glad you came here Fenris. I actually wanted to speak with you. Close the door, please.”

Fenris quietly shut the office door behind him.

“Come here.”

Hesitating to take any steps in spite of the command Fenris only shifted his body slightly toward Hawke’s direction.  
Aviel chuckled at his obstinance. He turned his entire chair to the side and beckoned in front of him. 

“Come here. What’s so hard about it, Fenris? I have something for you.”

Aviel smiled wickedly. Those honey colored eyes gleamed with mischief. Fenris cursed under his breath; once again he’d let himself fall for one of Hawke’s schemes. He strode up to the space in front of Hawke.

“Take a look at this,” Hawke handed him a stack of papers from the piles on the desk.

“I…” Fenris started, glaring down at the fancy script.

“Just this line is enough,” Hawke indicated, “Take your time.”

After a moment of studying the documents Fenris spoke, “You.” He clutched the papers tightly, crumpling them in the middle.  
“You officially put Danarius’ mansion in my possession?”

“Correct. The merchant whose name the title was under had been dead since _before_ he ‘owned’ the mansion. It was essentially a false claim. It belongs to you now. You’ve squatted there long enough that’s for sure.”

Fenris tossed the documents back onto the desk. “You’re abusing your position Hawke.”

“You never did like any of the gifts I gave you,” Hawke quipped with a hint of mock sadness.

“You can’t simply give me the mansion. There are—”

“Yes, yes. I know,” Aviel snapped while briefly looking towards the office door. Seneschal Bran had already tried to rake him over the coals for not following procedure with this. Gripping Fenris’ hands tightly in his he said, “You’re already living there. And, by the way, you don’t pay taxes having had the collector run off. What does it matter if I use my power as Viscount to officially gift you the property? I’m trying to help you.”

“I don’t want your help with this.” Fenris wanted to pull his hands away, but couldn’t really find it in himself to do so.

“Lately, why do you accept everyone’s help, but mine?” Hawke’s eyes narrowed. “Even though we’ve decided to be together you’re still so distant.” 

Taken aback by Aviel’s sudden seriousness Fenris replied in like manner, “You’re in a real position of power now Hawke, as an apostate no less. An extremely rare occurrence for any mage, outside of the Imperium at least…. What will people make of you if you do things like this?”

Disregarding Fenris’ earnest speech Aviel stood up, erasing the space between them.  
He snaked his hands up the elf’s sides and unclipped his breastplate.  


“They’re already mad at me.”  
The pauldrons were next to go.   
Aviel brought his lips to Fenris’ body, mouthing into the crook of his neck, “After all I’ve done for this city.”  
The belt slipped off next.

“Hawke.”

“Why does my name always sound like an insult coming from you?”

“I’ve no doubt you gained even more enemies, but why?” Fenris held Aviel’s hands from continuing further. 

A few clasps of Fenris’ tunic came undone despite his weak efforts to keep it closed.

“It’s just like you said,” Hawke sighed, sitting back down in his chair without letting go of Fenris’ hips, thus dragging the elf in closer. “I’m a mage.”

Aviel parted Fenris’ tunic near the bottom where most of the ties were undone already and kissed the soft, dark skin beneath.  
Fenris sucked in a breath which caused his stomach to roll slightly underneath Hawke’s lips.

“I gave my aid to the Templars.”  
Hawke licked the lyrium lines that led up Fenris’ body in a herringbone pattern.

Gauntleted fingers carded through Hawke’s hair, slightly scratching his scalp.

“But because I ended up striking down Meredith, mages see me as some kind of hero. It's wrong, they don't know the real decision I made that night. Now, I'm not sure it was the best choice. Why did I toe the line then, of all times? Can I justify my actions at the gallows when I've never even been in a circle? At the time it seemed to be the only answer. After all of the blood magic, after my mother...,” Hawke’s voice faltered almost imperceptibly. He hated to show sadness, weakness, but Fenris recognized the hollow quality in his voice. After Lady Amell’s murder they sat together in that quiet mansion, Hawke quieter, if he did speak the sound carried the dismal tune of a man who had lost too much.

“There wasn’t really a choice. You were the only capable damage control for this entire Maker forsaken city-state. No one else could have stopped those maleficarum,” Fenris defended.

Aviel looked upwards and Fenris could not pull his attention from those eyes if he tried. He was so weak to Hawke—surely a curse the mage had cast on him back when they first met. Hawke began to roll down Fenris’ pants.

“Wait, you wish to do this now?” Fenris protested while trying to pry himself away from the man.

“Don’t leave.”  
Aviel bit into Fenris’ hip. The three lyrium dots that sat there were completely consumed by Hawke’s mouth. Fenris shuddered.  
“Templars are at my heels once again too. They have no one else to bother.”  
Hawke teased Fenris’ half-hard cock with a feather touch.

“Hawke. What if someone sees us?” Fenris gripped Aviel’s shoulder to steady himself.

“Let them. You’re my Viscountess aren’t you? It’s only natural.”

“I am not. You’re insufferable. Even the nobles will be after you for your indecency.”

“Speaking of nobles and indecency.” Hawke took Fenris in his mouth. “Sebastian,” he spoke during brief interludes of sucking, “retook Starkhaven.”

“Don’t! Don’t talk about him while doing that. It feels wrong.”

Hawke laughed and pulled his lips away, “You sure?”

“Yes. Now continue.”

“Which action?”

“Your griping,” Fenris sighed, “but hurry.”

“Despite or because of Sebastian—whichever you prefer—I petitioned Starkhaven, and to a lesser extent Tantervale, for restoration funds. Maker knows they’d both rather invade us than help us though. They don’t respect me as Viscount either.”

“For the usual reasons people don’t respect you, I’m sure.”

Ignoring his lover’s jest, Aviel put one hand on the small of Fenris’ back, he rubbed slow circles there, and stroked the tip of Fenris’ wet, growing cock with his other hand.

“Then, are you not... satisfied with your position?” Fenris asked, punctuated with light breaths of pleasure.

“No.” Aviel responded as he stood and pushed Fenris face down onto the desk.

“Ah, Hawke!” Fenris tried to lift his body from the desk, but Hawke’s hand held him down firmly by the back of the neck. “I don’t...,” Fenris mumbled into the documents beneath him, his wet lips slightly catching on the dry paper. “The door isn’t even locked,” he ended up hissing.

“I told you to lock it.” Aviel ran his hand down Fenris’ back.

“No, you didn’t!” Fenris shouted and rattled the desk by slamming his hands onto it.

“Shh, quiet, love,” Aviel attempted to soothe his irate lover, “You don’t want anyone rushing in then do you?”

Fenris could hear the mirth in Hawke’s voice and remained tense. Hawke bent down, lying his entire body weight on top of Fenris. The elf grunted under the pressure. Fenris felt Hawke’s hard-on against him and attempted to shift his body away, to no avail. 

Aviel kissed the tip of the pointed ear nearest him.  
“You don’t have to worry,” Hawke whispered in a more genuine tone. “I won’t harm you. You know that.”

“But you’ll hurt me?”

“Don’t pretend that you don’t like it, darling. No one will come in. Except me, of course.”

Fenris groaned, not in pleasure, but exasperation. Yet, if Hawke was sure, then there was no cause for alarm. He did practice magic after all, he could obliterate anyone unfortunate enough to disturb them on sight. Fenris took a deep breath and let himself relax under the comfort of Hawke’s warmth and weight.

“Good, very good,” Hawke cooed as he felt his lover relax beneath him.

Pleasure rushed over Fenris’ body giving him goosebumps. He knew, deep down, that for the rest of his life sultry words of praise would never fail to excite him. Hawke knew it too and he gave them to him.

“Fenris, you’re always so good to me.” Hawke bit down onto Fenris’ shoulder hard enough to force him to stifle a cry.  
“I want to give you everything Fenris.”  
Hawke’s lascivious voice barely registered in Fenris’ mind. He made an effort to concentrate.  
“Do you want what I have to give?” Hawke asked.

A moment of silence followed in which neither man made any movement.  
Then Fenris' answer followed, “Yes, I want it.”

Hawke had all of this planned. Fenris knew this by the amount of time it took him to find oil, which was no time at all. The smell of this particular brand of oil, the paper, the ink, and the wood of the room were new, but the sensation of the fingers inside of him was not. Nor was the press of weight on him or the hot breath on his neck as Aviel worked. Fenris’ teeth set together tightly with the effort of trying to keep all of his moans within his chest. This made them sound more gruff than usual, which Aviel seemed to like judging by the hardening cock pressing against Fenris’ leg. Fenris trembled imagining it inside of him.

 _“Three years. You owe me three years of sex.”_ Aviel had said as they tumbled into his bed after that ghastly night at the gallows. They were both too tired then to do anything more than sleep chastley next to each other. Aviel slept for three days straight, calling out and reaching for Fenris every time he stirred conscious for a few minutes. Fenris didn’t—wouldn’t—leave him. After those three days Aviel was insatiable for a time; Fenris’ body was covered with more love-bites than he’d ever gotten wounds in a fight, but Hawke eventually had to work. Soon after, Hawke’s duties as Viscount tripled when more and more Templars were revealed to have dabbled with some of the red lyrium. It had been days since the they’d last seen each other and weeks since they’d had sex.

So now, Fenris couldn’t deny that he wanted it. He reached a hand back and dug his gauntlets into Hawke’s leg.

“Maker,” Hawke yelped, “I should have taken those off first.”

Fenris laughed. “You say that, but you always seem to forget them don’t you?”

Aviel withdrew his fingers and unhooked the hand from his leg. Fenris didn’t mind the loss much because he anticipated what would come next more. Aviel turned Fenris onto his back on the desk.

“I know it’s been a few weeks, but my back is still tender, so be gentle, Fenris dear.”

“A hypocrite and a liar?” Fenris snorted.

Hawke leaned down with a smile and kissed him. One of his hands made circles on Fenris’ abdomen just above the place where he’d really like to be stroked, and the other played roughly with his chest. Aviel’s touches were always kind-hearted and vicious in tandem—just like him—which drove Fenris mad.

“Ah, Hawke I—” Fenris wrapped his legs around Hawke’s hips.

“That’s right,” Hawke cooed, “you wanted it all didn’t you?” Hawke grabbed hold of Fenris’ shaking hips, steadying him, entering him.  
“I love you, Fenris.”

And just like that Hawke was inside of him, body, mind, and soul. A sudden rush of dizziness overcame Fenris so he latched his hands onto Hawke’s back, fingernails and gauntlets both digging in for support. Hawke tensed at the pain, a guttural noise escaped him, then he relaxed. The degree to which Hawke enjoyed being hurt sometimes bemused Fenris, but everyone has their vice, and he didn’t mind it too much himself to be perfectly honest. Though he’d never tell.

“I love you... Aviel.”

These were the words that bound them, more than any master and slave. What vaulted them over all the hurdles of their disagreements. Hawke was brash, stubborn, irascible, clever, even cruel if need be. These traits put them at odds many times, but in the end Hawke stuck to his principles and Fenris respected him for that. Yet, love is different from respect; Fenris had come to learn that. Love made him a fool.

***

The smell of them permeated the room. Anyone who walked in would know what they had done, and maybe Fenris shouldn’t care. Fenris sat on the edge of the desk as he redressed. The metal and leather cooled off the skin of his arms, still hot from his activity.

“Please accept the house Fenris.”

This again?  
Hawke sat, leaned back in his chair, hands clasped together in his lap.

“Why would I?”

“ _Why_ are you like this with my gifts?” Hawk jerked forward, hands now grasping the armrests of his seat.

“Think about it, Hawke. A book when I cannot read, an emblem of my enemies, a crumbling, empty mansion.”

Hawke shot to his feet, his arms spread in exasperation. “You can read now, you’ve defeated your enemies, you can make a home here.”

“And why can’t I do that with you, in your house.” Fenris’ face grew more heated than it ever had before.  
He gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his gauntlets would leave pockmarks.

Hawke’s face screwed in an anguish that Fenris hadn’t seen since Carver—

“Because I’m leaving.” Hawke leaned onto the desk, hands on either side of Fenris’ legs.  
His forehead rested on the fireball guard of Fenris’ breastplate. “I have to leave.”

“What?” Fenris’ voice trembled. If Hawke had not been leaning against him Fenris would have fell forward in a faint.

“The Templars are growing out of control, there are rumors of an exalted march. Kirkwall is now the center of the flames of the world, I’m the center. This city will destroy me, or I will destroy it.”  
He lifted his head, his hand cupped Fenris’ face. They shared a simple kiss, just a touch of the lips.  
“I don’t know what will happen to my estate. I can’t ask you to flee with me either. You’ve been running for so long. This is your chance to make a life for yourself.”

“How many times do I have to say it?”  
Fenris gripped Hawke’s face with his palms in return and pressed their foreheads together.  
“No life is worth living without you.”

“We butt heads so often, but this is the most sensual time yet.”

Fenris laughed. “Because you’re stubborn and an idiot.”

“Ah, so I do have _some_ flaws after all.”

“Shut up, Hawke.” Fenris shut him up with another kiss.

“You’re sure you want to leave with me?”

“I remain at your side—whether you like it or not—and….”

“What is it?”

“I’m glad you’re leaving this place, stepping down as Viscount, you do far too much for others.”

“I just attract problems, but it led me to you so I can’t complain.”

“Now I am yours, so pay me more mind.”

“Will do.”

The handle of the office door jiggled, but it didn’t open. A muffled voice, angry in tempo, accompanied the futile clicks. It sounded distinctly like Seneschal Bran.

“You locked the door?” Fenris asked.

“You’ve seen me toss a man halfway across the city with force magic you think I can’t turn a lock from here? I told you it was fine, you underestimate me.”

“Maybe so.”


End file.
